


Like an Ocean Wave

by Overnighter



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Coming Out, High School, M/M, Prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:21:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overnighter/pseuds/Overnighter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prom night is a special night in every boy’s life. Right? Spencer’s not too sure. </p>
<p>
  <i>So far, except for one trip to Los Angeles . . . being a rock star was turning out to be not nearly as glamorous as he’d imagined.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like an Ocean Wave

> And like an ocean wave that’s bumped on the shore
> 
> I feel so absolutely stumped on the floor
> 
> \-- I Won’t Dance, Jerome Kern and Dorothy Field

It was seven-thirty and the last of the late spring sunshine was making the whole street gleam golden, but even though it was one of the three weeks of the year when the temperature could be described as almost pleasant in suburban Las Vegas, there was no way in hell that Spencer was stepping foot outside his door.

Possibly ever again, but most definitely not tonight, when there was a giant, white Humvee limo parked three doors down and Lindsey Marlton and all her stupid cheerleader friends were gathered on the lawn wearing shiny dresses with their stupid, dudebro boyfriends in ill-fitting tuxedos, clowning around while Mr. Marlton took pictures. 

Spencer jumped when he felt a chin jut into his shoulder and replaced the living room curtain with possibly more force than was strictly necessary.

“Stalking the neighbors again?” his mom asked as she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “Want some ice cream before dinner?” 

“No,” Spencer said sharply, then added, after a moment, “Thanks.” 

He knew his mother was trying to make him feel better, but he didn’t need to feel better. He needed to start looking like the rock star he was going to be. He was. Ryan had said it, and Spencer had long ago learned that Ryan was a force to be reckoned with. Besides, Pete Wentz had been here – right here in this living room – the night that Spencer had been stuck babysitting while Ryan and Brendon had persuaded him that they could all be famous, even Brent and Spencer.

It had been the most embarrassing moment of the best night of his life, when his mom and dad had made Pete Wentz – PETE WENTZ FROM FALL OUT BOY – come into the house instead of just dropping Ryan and Brendon off in front, so that they could “talk about his intentions.” But Pete had been charmed – and charming in return – and Spencer’s parents had been easily persuaded after that. 

Which is why, Spencer tried to tell himself, he was currently lurking in the living room with his mom and not standing out in a ragged line on the Marltons’ front lawn have his picture taken. Not that Lindsey and her Mean Girl posse would have given him a second glance anyway. At least not yet. 

Six months – maybe a year – from now, when they had a record and tour bus and a slot on TRL, Lindsey would probably be telling some frat guy at UNLV that she’d grown up with Spencer Smith – yes, _that_ Spencer Smith, from Panic! At the Disco – and that they were best friends before they were famous, but for now he was pretty sure that she was the source of the rumor that he had dropped out of Gorman because he had AIDS and a heroin habit.

He had not dropped out, contrary to rumor. In fact, he’d just taken his finals three weeks ago, online, and would even be walking in the Bishop Gorman graduation ceremony, one week to the day before they left for College Park. Even if he had been gone for a whole semester, it wasn’t like he’d actually gone very far.

“Sweetheart, there’ll be other dances,” his mom said, tightening her arms a final time before letting him go, “and prom is always such a letdown anyway. Remember what a terrible time Ryan had at his prom last year?” 

Ryan had actually had a great time at his prom last year. He’d had sex with Tarah twice in their motel room that night, and they’d all driven down to Lake Mead the next morning to watch the sunrise and go skinny dipping. He had recounted this in great detail to Spencer later that day. 

Three weeks later, when Ryan found out Tarah had been cheating on him for five of the six months they’d been dating, and had had sex with Luke Davenport in the coat closet of the country club before she’d had sex with Ryan that night, _then_ he’d had a terrible time, but Spencer didn’t think his mom would especially appreciate the difference.

“I don’t care,” Spencer said. “It’s stupid, anyway.” 

His mother kissed his temple and nodded. 

“It is. Very stupid. Now, come on in and have some dinner. I made chicken enchiladas.” 

Spencer shook his head and deliberately turned around as a cackle of laughter drifted through the open window. 

“I’m not hungry. I’m going to go hang out in my room for a while.” 

His mother frowned, but waved him off towards the stairs. 

“Fine. I’ll save a plate for you, in case you’re hungry later. And one for Ryan, too. Where is Ryan, anyway?” 

Spencer shrugged. That was an excellent question. 

If Ryan had been here, they would have been mocking Lindsey’s caked on make-up and bad fashion choices. They could have been writing songs – which usually meant messing around on MySpace and trying to find free porn until Brendon showed up sometime after his shift ended – but Ryan had moved from Internet-stalking some scene queen to actually stalking her, and was at some club downtown with an 18-and-over night.

“Date, I think,” he mumbled as he started to walk away, but his mother reached out one more time as he passed her and pulled him into yet another hug. 

“Do we like her?” she asked, and Spencer scowled as she ruffled his hair. “I’ll take that as a no, then. Well, the girls rented a movie and we’re all going to watch later. I’ll come get you.” 

Spencer knew an order when he heard one, so he just shrugged. 

“I’m fine, Mom,” he said. “There’s no need to stage an intervention just yet.” 

“I know,” she said, “but maybe I just want to spend some time with my baby before he leaves me to drive all the way across the country in a van that looks like it escaped from the set of Barney.”

Spencer barked out a laugh against his will and twisted out of her arms. 

“Well, I see my work here is done,” she said. 

“I’m telling Brendon you said that,” Spencer called over his shoulder as he started up the steps, but his mother was already calling the girls into the kitchen for dinner.

*

It turned out that Ryan was a lot better at finding free porn than Spencer was on his own. He’d given up after his third hit on some Brazilian video that had involved some kind of a giant snake, and was instead returning emails to Pete and their new producer about gas allowances and how many bedrooms were in the the apartment in Maryland.

So far, except for one trip to Los Angeles where Ryan had spent the weekend talking to Pete Wentz – PETE WENTZ – about stupid YouTube videos and rhyming dictionaries and Brendon had spent it holed up in a studio with Patrick Stump – PATRICK STUMP – and Spencer had mostly spent it trying to keep Brent from puking up two beers’ worth of vomit into the hot tub, being a rock star was turning out to be not nearly as glamorous as he’d imagined. 

He grinned as he heard the window rattle behind him. 

“So, Jac didn’t show or what...” he started, but trailed off as a mop of dark hair appeared over his sill. “Brendon, what the hell are you doing here? And why are you trying to climb in my window?” 

Brendon’s sweaty face appeared a second later, his eyebrows knitted with effort. 

“Less talking, more helping,” he panted, but Spencer was already out of his desk chair to help haul him into the room. Spencer heaved, and Brendon slithered over the sill into a neat heap on the floor, his backpack riding up over his shoulders to bump him on the head as he did.

“Ow,” he muttered. “How does Ross make it look so easy?” 

Spencer offered him a hand, but Brendon pushed the backpack down and sprang to his feet in one quick motion. Spencer was pretty sure that Brendon was part monkey or acrobat or something, the way he flung himself around with effortless grace, comfortable in his body in a way that neither Spencer nor Ryan had yet figured out.

“You know," Spencer said, pulling his hand back as Brendon slid the backpack off his shoulders and dropped back down to the floor, already cross-legged, “We do have a front door.” 

“Yeah, well, Ryan always comes in that way, and I figured if he could do it, how hard could it be?” Brendon said with his head down, unzipping the front of his pack. 

“Ryan’s had a lot of practice,” Spencer said shortly, and Brendon looked up. 

“Right,” Brendon said, his face reddening. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine. But what are you doing here? You know we don’t have practice tonight, right? And there’s dinner downstairs, but my mom didn’t know you were coming, so it’s chicken enchiladas. Unless you’re not pretending to be a vegetarian this week?” 

“Hey!” Brendon protested, “I’m totally mostly a vegetarian.” 

Spencer raised an eyebrow. 

“You had a hamburger after practice last Tuesday.” 

“I thought it was a veggie burger!” 

“We were at In-N-Out at the time.” 

Brendon dismissed Spencer’s argument with a wave of his hand. 

“Details. Anyway, I just thought maybe you’d like some company tonight. Ryan mentioned that he was doing that thing with the Internet blonde, whatsherface. I don’t think he remembered, or he wouldn’t have –”

“I’m fine,” Spencer cut him off. 

“I know you are,” Brendon answered, voice smooth and level, “but I still thought you’d want to hang out.” 

Spencer sighed, and thudded to the floor beside Brendon, tipping over briefly onto his back before righting himself with one leg splayed awkwardly out in front of him. When he looked over, Brendon was poking around in his backpack again, his whole face scrunched up like a closed fist in an effort to keep from laughing and his eyes carefully averted from Spencer. Brendon had the worst poker face in Las Vegas, Spencer was convinced. 

“Laugh it up, fuzzball,” he growled, and Brendon did laugh, then, tossing his uniform hat and balled-up black apron onto the floor as he rooted around. He was still wearing his white uniform polo shirt, dotted with mysterious pastel stains, and he smelled faintly of bananas and – gravy? 

“Why do you smell like gravy?” Spencer asked. “New smoothie, for the busy mom on the go? Dinner in a cup?” 

“No, you asshole,” Brendon said as he pulled a brown bag out of the depths of his backpack. 

There was a dark stain on one side of it and Brendon frowned as he unrolled the top and glanced inside. “Okay, so the smoothie didn’t quite make the climb, but the rest of it seems okay. Anyway, I brought dinner. Port of Subs and one of those chocolate banana dessert smoothies you like.” 

Spencer grinned, reaching for the bag, then pulled back. 

“I’m not hungry,” he said, tucking his hands under his thighs. 

Brendon rolled his eyes and tugged a battered smoothie cup out of the bag. The plastic lid was askew, a line of gray-brown frozen treat running sluggishly down one side. Brendon re-adjusted the lid, then brought the whole cup up in front of his face, examining it for a moment before his tongue darted out and he licked off the excess in one long, broad swipe. Spencer shivered as Brendon rocked forward on his knees, reaching for his discarded apron. He ran it over the cup, tracing the path of his tongue, and then thrust the whole thing into Spencer’s hands so that he could wipe his own. Spencer gasped as he felt the condensation rising under his palm, and he could feel the warmer spot where Brendon’s tongue had been just a second ago.

“What, it can’t be that cold still? It’s been in there since I closed up. Anyway, it’s one of those new ones, with the Splenda and stuff. It’s supposed to be healthier.” 

Spencer scowled but Brendon just shrugged and tossed the apron back onto Spencer’s floor. 

“What, I can’t notice that you’re – toning, or whatever? I’m being supportive,” Brendon said solemnly, but his mouth was already twisting up in a smile. “I mean – I think it’s stupid, but I’m being supportive. It’s not like we’re going to kick you out because you’re too ugly. Brent would miss you.” 

He grinned outright at that and knocked into Spencer’s shoulder with his own. Spencer cracked the lid and took a tentative sip. It was half-melted, but still delicious. He started to take another sip, but Brendon snatched it back and replaced it with a sandwich tightly wrapped in foil. 

“No dessert before dinner, young man,” he said. “I had to work really hard for that sandwich. It took me forever to convince Angie to make it for me.” 

Spencer sniffed as the gravy smell strengthened. 

“It disturbs me a little that you’re on a first-name basis with the Port of Subs waitress.” 

Brendon raised one shoulder as he unpacked another sandwich from the bag. 

“She’s not a waitress. She’s a sandwich technician. And I spend a lot of time in there. I had mashed potatoes and iceberg lettuce for dinner every night this week. My mom made steak every time I was home. And last night, there was ham cut up in the salad.”

Brendon was peeling foil back from his sandwich with more deliberation than it deserved, carefully not looking at Spencer. 

Brendon’s home situation was more of a cold war than Ryan’s active front, but it was still a source of considerable friction. Brendon spent more time on Craigslist pricing apartments than Spencer spent on Pornotube, and Spencer was pretty sure that he and Ryan had worked out an elaborate system of who was spending the night on Spencer’s air mattress, because they hardly ever ended up there at the same time, while he kept finding a sleeping bag tucked behind his drum kit in the practice space. 

“So you _are_ still pretending to be a vegetarian, then,” Spencer said as he started to unwrap his own sandwich. “Oh my God, is this a Pilgrim? How did you manage to get her to make you a Pilgrim in May? You are an evil genius.”

Brendon rolled his eyes, but his smile was wide and happy. 

“I only use my powers for good, I’ll have you know. It’s taken me seventeen years to perfect those puppy eyes. I had to beg, Spence. I had to _flirt_. Now apologize for making fun of my totally moral stance against the exploitation of delicious little baby cows and pigs and shut up and eat your sandwich.”

Spencer bit into the sub and made a sub vocal noise deep in his throat. The cranberry sauce was just starting to leak into the roll, but it was still crusty, and the turkey was still warm. It was the best thing Spencer had tasted in months. He looked up to find Brendon staring at him, one eyebrow cocked and a strange look on his face. 

“Should I leave you two alone?” Brendon asked, and Spencer flipped him the bird with his free hand as he took another bite. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled through a mouthful of meat, “and I’m sorry that I suggested that you might do anything ever just to piss off your parents, and not out of the deepest ethical conviction.” 

Brendon waved his own sub, opening and closing the roll like a mouth. 

“Look – veggie special. Roasted red peppers, lettuce, tomato, cheese. A-vo-ca-do. I am totally a for-real vegetarian,” he said, taking a ferocious bite. “The fact that it pisses off my family is just an added bonus.” 

They ate the rest of their meal in companionable silence, passing the melted smoothie back and forth between them. The rim of the cup tasted faintly of something, but in a pleasant way, and Spencer couldn’t tell if it was from the avocado or the oil on the sandwiches or the taste of Brendon himself.

*

Brendon was rooting through his backpack again, looking for the tab paper he swore he’d shoved in there on his break to show Spencer the new bass part he’d written for Relax, Relapse, when someone knocked on the bedroom door. Spencer looked at his floor – currently covered with empty food wrappers, notebooks and seemingly half of Brendon’s wardrobe – and scrambled up for the door, but it was too late. His mother had learned to pause before she walked in, but only for long enough for Spencer to holler out a strangled “Don’t!” if necessary.

“Hey, sweetie, we’re just about to start the movie, so why don’t you come down and – Oh, hello, Brendon. I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, unruffled as always by an extra body or two in her son’s bedroom. 

“That’s because I’m stealth like a ninja, Mrs. Smith,” Brendon said, standing up to walk over to the door and talk to her. “Sorry about the mess. I was looking for something.” 

Spencer’s mom glanced behind the boys into the room and sighed. 

“It’s fine. As long as you clean it up. I’m sorry, Brendon, I didn’t know you were coming. There are enchiladas downstairs, but they’re chicken. I think we’ve got mac and cheese leftover from last night if you’re hungry, though.” 

Brendon looked startled for a moment before he smiled at her. 

“No, thanks, Mrs. Smith, but that’s cool. I, uh – I brought dinner with me,” he said, ducking his head. 

“By which he means that he totally brought me a Pilgrim from Port of Subs so that I didn’t kill myself on prom night with an abandoned corsage,” Spencer said, but he was smiling too. 

“Did he?” Spencer’s mom said, and reached out to ruffle Brendon’s hair. “I always knew I liked you.” 

Brendon’s face lit up as he launched himself onto her in a full-body hug. She made a startled _oomph_ and then returned it, and Spencer could see Brendon lean into her, tucking his face into the crook of her neck for a moment. Brendon was one of the most tactile people Spencer knew, and he suspected that hugs in the Urie household were few and far between these days.

Brendon released Spencer’s mom after a moment and stepped back, winking over his shoulder at Spencer.

“I am totally the favorite son right now,” he stage-whispered. “You can tell Ross to suck it.” 

Spencer’s mom laughed and pointed an index finger sternly in Brendon’s face. 

“I love all my children equally,” she said. Brendon nodded solemnly and held his hands in front of him, chest high, in exaggerated “okay” sign. 

“Suuure you do,” he drawled, “I know how it is.” He dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned in conspiratorially. “We don’t want to hurt Spencer’s feelings. He’s already feeling a little fragile tonight.” 

She laughed again and pushed him back with her palm flat on his forehead, and Spencer rolled his eyes. 

“Stop flirting with my mom, Brendon. It’s gross.” 

It was always weird to see Brendon with adults. He never seemed to try too hard with parents like he often did with Ryan and Spencer and even Brent, whom he'd known the longest. Instead, he was polite and charming and sweet. He really was all the parents’ favorite. All the parents except his own. 

“Why don’t you boys clean up and come on down for the movie, unless you’re doing something better,” she said as Brendon stuck his tongue out at Spencer. 

“Whose pick?” they asked at the same time. Spencer’s mom raised an eyebrow. 

“Jackie’s, I think. I don’t know, your dad took them to Blockbuster. Why?” she asked as Spencer groaned and Brendon pumped a triumphant fist into the air. 

“Disney?” he asked happily. 

“I don’t know. Some cartoon, I think. It can’t be that bad. You know how Spencer’s dad feels about cartoons, usually.” 

She left, closing the door behind her and Brendon returned to his mess on the floor immediately, gathering up their trash and repacking his backpack with lightning speed. 

“I wish you moved this fast when we were running late for practice,” Spencer said, watching from the doorway still. 

“If you were a cartoon, maybe I would,” he answered, balling up their abandoned sub wrappers and aiming them at Spencer’s trash can. He missed, and crossed the room to retrieve them before straightening up to look over at Spencer with a line between his eyes. “Seriously, is this okay with you? This is supposed to be, you know, your night or whatever.” 

Spencer resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. He knew both Brendon and his family were just trying to help, but until this moment, he’d nearly forgotten that this wasn’t just another lame Friday night. 

“It’s fine, Brendon,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Let’s just go downstairs. They’re waiting for us.” 

Brendon walked over to where Spencer was standing, his face still serious. He put a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, getting up on tiptoe to look him in the eye. 

“Hey,” he said, voice soft. “Hey, you know it’s just – it’s just because you left, because you’re not there every day. That’s why you don’t have a girlfriend, that’s all. That’s why you didn’t go to prom. It’s not – it’s not _you_ , Spence. Of course it’s not you.” 

Spencer shrugged off Brendon’s hand and tipped his head far enough back that Brendon could no longer catch his eye. Spencer didn’t mention the fact that no one had really noticed him before he’d left Gorman, either. Not unless they were trying to get to Ryan, or were a friend of someone who was trying to get to Ryan. With the exception of one kiss beside the lake two summers ago with a girl from Austin who’d thought his accent was “cute,” every girl he’d ever hooked up with fit into one of those two categories. 

“Ryan’s got a girlfriend, and he’s practically living out of his car. And his car is a Grand Am, Brendon.” 

Brendon laughed a little at that, startled and breathless, although Spencer hadn’t meant it to be funny. 

“Ryan’s sort of a slut, dude. I mean – I love him, and I know you do – but he is, really.” 

Now it was Spencer’s turn to be startled into laughter. 

“I would tell him you said that, but he might take it as a compliment.” 

“Probably,” Brendon agreed easily, and put his hand on back on Spencer’s shoulder. This time, Spencer didn’t try to shrug it off. 

“Brent’s going to prom, and Brent left school when I did,” Spencer said, hating how his voice got high and tight and shaky at the end. 

The truth was, even though Ryan was a weirdo, Ryan had this thing (He was pretty, lost, mysterious, intense) that drew people to him, that made him different than Spencer, than all of them. But Brent was one of them – Brent had a thick waist and a dorky, stuttering laugh and a tendency to hide behind his bad scene bangs when he talked to people he didn’t know – and Brent wasn’t going to be watching stupid cartoons with his family the night of _his_ prom.

Brendon’s hand tightened as he butted his head against Spencer’s shoulder. 

“Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Spencer Smith the Fifth, what are we going to do with you?” he asked. “Brent has a girlfriend. A girlfriend who still attends his high school. A girlfriend who’s in about sixteen clubs and knows every single person in her class. Brent’s way more in the loop than you are. Hell, Brent’s way more in the loop than I am, and I’ve still got to go to class every day.” 

His voice was light, but by the end even Spencer could hear the note of bitterness that crept in. 

“Hey, Brendon, are you going to your prom?” he asked. Brendon raised his head from Spencer’s shoulder and pulled a face. 

“Hell, no. I hate every single person at Palo Verde except maybe Brent and his girlfriend. Why would I want to spend even more time with them outside of class?”

“Brittany,” Spencer said. “You like Brittany. I thought you were going to go with her.” 

Brendon shook his head. 

“I do like Brittany, as a friend. But she’s going with her actual boyfriend, and I don’t think Mike, as nice a guy as he is, is really that into threesomes.” 

He pulled back a little, dropping his hand from Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer saw that the nails were bitten below the quick. 

“Are you upset about it?” Spencer asked, his voice low. For the first time since Brendon had climbed into Spencer’s window, Spencer really looked at him. His eyes were bloodshot at the corners, the skin under them blue-white and shadowed. His skin was pale, his freckles standing out in stark relief, and his shoulders were high and tense. But he was smiling. Brendon was always smiling. Spencer should have known better. 

“No,” he said curtly. “No, I’m really not. Fuck them. Next year, all those douchebags will be talking about whether to, like, skip their Econ lecture at 8am, and we’ll be fucking rock stars. Why should I give a shit what they think?”

“Boys! Boys, the movie’s starting,” Spencer’s mom’s voice floated up the stairs. “Oh, and can you get Crystal’s inhaler out of her room on your way down?”

Spencer looked over at Brendon and laughed, real and deep, from his belly. 

“Some fucking rock stars we are,” he said, and Brendon reached over to high-five him. 

“Now you’re talking. Let’s go get our Disney on.” 

He bounced up on his toes and then darted down the hallway without meeting Spencer’s eyes again, trusting that he would follow.

*

The Smith family room was designed for a lot of lounging. There were two long sofas set kitty-corner against each other in front of the television, plus a couple more recliners around the edge. When Spencer’s parents had bought the house, they said they wanted the family room to be the place where the family actually spent time, and they’d spent a lot of effort making that true. Which should have meant that there was plenty of room for all of them, but to Brendon personal space seemed more like an affront than an actual concept.

When they’d come down to watch the movie, Spencer had started out sprawled on one of the couches, Brendon on the floor beneath him, curled up under his sisters’ pink unicorn blanket with Crystal, talking about his favorite Pixar movie. 

Spencer’s sisters loved Brendon – even more than they loved Ryan, who’d been around long enough that some of the shine had worn off – and certainly more than they loved Spencer. Brendon had tons of nieces and nephews and cousins, which meant that he always had a supply of knock-knock jokes, an opinion on the kind of “pop stars” that only ever appeared in J-14 and a fierce appreciation for body glitter. Half the time that Brendon was over, Spencer had to banish them from the room just to be able to play a game of Mario Kart from start to finish. 

The cartoon had animals in it, and some sort of adventure plot, although he wasn’t really paying attention until Crystal started to get scared about something and crawled up on the other couch between Jackie and their parents, dragging the blanket with her. Instead, he’d been watching Brendon teasing Crystal before Brendon got caught up in the stupid movie himself, his wide mouth grinning as he hummed along with a song on the soundtrack unconsciously. Ten minutes later, Brendon was batting at Spencer’s leg and whining. 

“It’s cold down here alone, Spence.” 

Spencer sighed, and wiggled around until there was enough room for Brendon on the couch next to him, which translated, somehow, into Brendon’s head on Spencer’s lap ten minutes later, his mouth open as he snored softly and drooled a little onto Spencer’s jeans. Spencer startled when his dad came up from the kitchen behind him. The movie must have been more absorbing than he’d thought; he’d never even seen his father leave. His father dropped the afghan from the back of Spencer’s couch over Brendon’s sleeping form, and Brendon sighed, burrowing his cheek deeper into Spencer’s thigh. 

“Is he okay?” his dad asked softly. “He’s usually a bundle of energy.” 

Spencer looked down and resisted the urge to run his hands through Brendon’s dark hair. 

“He’s okay. He’s just...” Spencer trailed off, unsure of how to complete the sentence. Exhausted? Angry? Miserable? Brendon was a lot of things these days, not many of them good. “He’s just tired,” he finished, finally, as his father moved off to hand bowls of ice cream to the twins. 

That was true, too. 

Brendon was always tired. Spencer knew he’d been up before dawn to go to seminary – which his parents were still insisting on even though it was clear by now that Brendon wasn’t going on a mission, no matter what happened with the band – that’d he’d bombed a calculus test (if that’s what his cryptic text message – _Calc sux. Can grad w/o math? y/y?_ – had meant), and that he’d gone back right after school for yet another shift at the Smoothie Hut. Since Spencer had known him, Brendon had always been busy, but his life lately made Spencer exhausted even thinking about it. 

“Well, he’s welcome to stay, you know, but he’s got to call home,” his mom said, coming up to where his father had been standing a moment before and placing two bowls of ice cream on the table beside Spencer’s elbow. 

“I think his parents already know he’s staying...” Spencer started to say, and it was probably even true. Brendon was spending almost no time at home if he could avoid it, and Spencer was pretty sure that they knew by now not to expect him home on any weekend night. 

“Spencer.” 

“Fine.” 

Not even Ryan was excepted from Mrs. Smith’s call-home rule, to be fair. The only difference was that, in Ryan’s case, it was Spencer’s mom who called, leaving terse messages on George’s voicemail in case he happened to wake up long enough to wonder where Ryan might have gone. 

Brendon stirred at their whispered conversation and his eyes blinked open. He wiped his face against Spencer’s jeans, trying to conceal the drool, and then grinned sleepily up at Spencer and his mom staring down at him. 

“Did I miss the end? Did they make it back home?” he asked muzzily, and Spencer nudged him. 

“Sit up. The movie’s not over yet, and my mom brought ice cream.” 

Brendon rolled to a sitting position, pulling his knees up under him in the same motion. He tucked the afghan around himself and tilted his head back to smile at Spencer’s mom. 

“You are totally my favorite, Mrs. Smith,” he said and she rolled her eyes at him. “No, really. I mean, not only are you responsible for Spencer – who’s, like, totally essential – but you bring snacks, too. That’s above and beyond. Really.” 

His mom laughed softly, but she picked up one of the bowls from beside Spencer's arm and placed it into Brendon’s outstretched hands. 

“Are you sure you’re not still asleep and babbling?” she teased, and Brendon shook his head. 

“Disco nap. I am now ready to party all night, if necessary.” 

“Some party,” Spencer muttered as he picked up his own bowl of ice cream, and he felt his mother’s hand briefly on his head before she moved off. Brendon frowned at him for a moment, a deep line bisecting his eyebrows, then threw the afghan over Spencer’s knees too, nudging his shoulder against Spencer’s until he moved his arm and let Brendon snuggle up next to him.

“Come on,” he whispered around a mouthful of New York Super Fudge Chunk, which was totally Spencer’s favorite, “This is so much better than prom. There are no cartoons at prom. Certainly no ice cream,” he added, twisting his head around so that he was pressed against Spencer’s neck. His tongue darted out and licked a path along the line of Spencer’s nearly non-existent five o’clock shadow. It was cold and sticky. “Also, no me.”

Spencer snorted and rubbed a hand along his cheek, wiping away Brendon’s spittle as his sisters cracked up across from them. 

“Ew, you freak. How is that a bad thing?” 

Brendon stuck his tongue out at him again and then turned back to the screen, where it looked like the credits were running. 

“Shhh. We’re going to miss the end of the movie. Now eat your ice cream before it melts. This is totally more fun than prom. Admit it,” he said without looking over at Spencer. Spencer sighed and ate a bite of ice cream. 

The thing is, it sort of totally was.

*

When the movie ended, Spencer‘s mom made Brendon call home. He moved out onto the patio and turned away from the glass doors towards the inky-black back yard, but Spencer could see the stiff line of his back as he ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t that late, but the Uries were early risers, and Spencer had been half-convinced that Brendon would just leave a voicemail on Ryan or Brent’s phone to placate Spencer’s mom. Instead, it looked like he was having a real, tense conversation with someone.

Spencer watched from his perch on the couch, unsure of what to do, and absently kissed his dad and sisters goodnight as they cleaned up the family room around him. His mom returned a few minutes later, standing in the arch of the doorway with her arms full of clean linens, watching Brendon through the doors. 

“I’ve got clean sheets for the air mattress and towels, but maybe I should stay up for a while? You know your father or I will be happy to drive Brendon home if he can’t stay,” she said, her voice neutral. 

Sometimes, Spencer wanted to ask his mom what she thought of Brendon and his family. 

With George, it was easy. He was no one’s idea of a good father, even if Spencer understood – sort of – that he loved Ryan as much as he was capable. Around Ryan, Spencer’s mom was careful to talk about him like any other parent, as though he were rational and responsible and in charge of decisions, even as she packed extra sandwiches in Spencer’s lunch and made sure the front door was unlocked and silently examined Ryan’s face for any hints that the bruise he swore he’d gotten from closing his arm in the car door was anything but. It helped that Spencer had actually seen Ryan do that to himself once or twice, but it never made her less suspicious. 

Brendon’s family seemed normal enough, though, and Spencer had been around Brendon long enough to know that he could be a pain in the ass sometimes. Spencer wondered if what was happening with Brendon was just a part of that. Still, his mother had that little dip in her forehead that she usually only got when she was thinking about Ryan. 

“I think they’re just talking,” Spencer said finally. He had a feeling that, no matter what, Brendon would be staying tonight, and that Spencer’s mom wouldn’t be pressing the issue too hard. 

“Okay,” she said, and came over to the couch to drop the linens beside him, “I’m going to bed then. We’ll see you for breakfast in the morning.” She looked down at Spencer and ruffled his hair before kissing his forehead. “Don’t stay up all night. And you’ll see, tomorrow will be a better day.” 

Spencer glanced over at the clock on the DVR. It was almost midnight. Soon everyone would be moving on to after-parties and hotel nights, and Spencer would have officially missed his senior prom forever. At least it would be over. 

He stood up, stretching as he moved for the first time in a few hours, and walked over to the patio doors. Out on the patio, Brendon had sat down heavily on one of the aluminum chairs, tossing his phone back and forth in his hands and staring out into the dark backyard. 

Spencer opened the door with as much noise as it was possible to make with a slider to give Brendon a warning and a little time to compose himself, which meant that by the time that Spencer sank into the chair across from him, Brendon had rearranged his face into a bright, empty smile. 

“All taken care of. My mom said to tell your mom thanks, and that she’s sending over a cake next time,” he said. “I’m all yours for the rest of the night.” 

Spencer had to give him credit. Two months ago, Spencer would have believed that everything was fine, especially in the dark, his face half in shadow. But it wasn’t two months ago, it was now. Spencer had gotten used to watching Brendon like he watched Ryan, looking for hidden clues, and he could see now the high set of his shoulders, the way he was folded in on himself in the dark. 

“What’s going on?” he asked. 

It had taken him a while to get used to Brendon’s rhythm, to understand that he didn’t operate the same way as Ryan did. Ryan hated when people asked him questions or made demands, but he never had trouble broadcasting loud and clear that there was a problem. With Brendon, Spencer had started to figure out – if no one asked, he’d keep right on grinning, right up until the moment he threw himself down on a set of metaphorical train tracks. 

“No problem. In fact, an unexpected bonus. It turns out that I’ve got tomorrow free after all – and no shifts at the Hut, either. We could make up practice, or do something else, I guess.” 

Brendon was supposed to have some big family – something – on Saturday. Spencer had long since given up trying to keep track of the myriad birthdays and graduations and Family Game Nights that were always popping up in Brendon’s giant, extended family, but he knew whatever this was had been a big deal. Brendon had spent weeks bribing, whining and outright begging to get 24 hours off from both practice and the Smoothie Hut. He’d been opening and closing for weeks, taking crap shifts that nobody wanted to get a coveted Saturday off. 

“The party get canceled? Everything okay?” 

It was – remotely – possible that something had happened, that one of Brendon’s 72 young nieces and nephews and cousins had the chicken pox or the plague or whatever, but then Brendon would have been freaking out in the normal way – flapping and trying to remember not to curse and flailing around. It was only when his problems were less immediate that he started smiling. 

“Everything’s fine. Remember how I told you that Mason’s kid got sent home from preschool last week for dropping an f-bomb? Well, I guess Melissa’s mom heard about it, and told my mom not to bring me tomorrow. She thinks I’m a bad influence.” 

“Because your brother’s kid – who lives in Pahrump – told a nursery school teacher to fuck off?” 

Spencer started to laugh, but Brendon had stopped smiling, and was looking down at the phone still in his hands. 

“They can’t figure out where else he would have heard it.” 

“From Mason, maybe?” Spencer countered. 

As far as Spencer knew, Brendon had never uttered so much as a “damn” in his parents’ house, but he had the foulest mouth of anyone Spencer knew outside of it – and had since the first time they’d met him, long before the band started “endangering his soul,” as Brendon’s mom had once solemnly informed him. Despite the fact that both his older brothers were practically candidates for the Men of Mormon calendar, Spencer had seen them in their dorky, fratty glory with Brendon, and suspected that he’d learned how to do it somewhere.

“I know, right? I haven’t seen Mason’s family for weeks. But I think it was just an excuse.” He shrugged. “That’s okay. I didn’t want to go anyway. It would have been a whole day of people slipping me BYU brochures and trying to talk me into a mission. It’s better this way.” 

He still wasn’t looking at Spencer, though. 

“And your mom said okay to that?” 

Brendon’s mom hated him and Ryan and Brent, as far as Spencer could tell, but she’d never stopped allowing them to come over, inviting them for dinner and game night and family singalongs. And while she spent about eighty percent of her time dividing her worries between Brendon’s soul and his math grades, Spencer had seen the way she smiled at him when he wasn’t looking, the way she always looked at least a little bit relieved when they turned up, like Brendon having actual friends almost made up for the band and the girls’ jeans and the imagined debauchery. He couldn’t imagine she’d be down with someone else hurting her baby boy. 

“Actually,” Brendon started, then stopped, laughing softly to himself. “Actually, she told me that Aunt Hope was not very good at practicing Christian charity, and had always been a bit of a jackass.” 

“Ooh, a jackass, hunh? Them’s fighting words,” Spencer teased, but he couldn’t quite get over the slight tone of wonder in Brendon’s voice. 

“Hey, for my mom that _is_ like dropping an F-bomb. That’s hardcore. It doesn’t matter, though. I told her not to start a fight. She’s just going to tell everyone that I couldn’t get the day off from work.” 

“Are you okay with that?” Spencer asked and Brendon shrugged again, but he finally turned towards Spencer, biting his lip. 

“I guess I’d better get used to it,” he said. He flipped his phone closed one last time and stood up, working it back into the pocket of his tight jeans. “Come on. The night is young, I don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow. Let’s play some video games.”

*

“Take that! Take it all, Smith!” Brendon crowed, leaping to his feet in one motion to do a little running-man dance in front of the TV.

“Shut the fuck up, would you? You’re going to wake up my parents,” Spencer hissed. They were playing Halo II with the sound turned all the way down, and Brendon’s iPod plugged into Spencer’s speakers on low. The point of which was totally defeated by Brendon dancing around the family room like an idiot. 

“Oh, right, sorry,” Brendon said, but he was still grinning as he plopped down on the floor next to Spencer again, picking up the controller and tossing it lightly back and forth between his hands. “Okay, so, best out of twelve.” 

Spencer groaned a little and shook his head. 

“It’s nearly three. I’m tired. Why aren’t you tired?” 

Brendon bounced a little in place next to Spencer, jittering his shoulders. 

“Disco nap, remember? I wanna rock and roll aaaalll niiiiight, and party ev-er-y-daaay,” he sang softly under his breath. “It’s your prom night. You should at least stay up all night, even if you don’t get to dance."

Spencer shuddered a little and turned off the game as Brendon nudged against his arm. 

“Thank God,” he muttered, and Brendon turned his head to look at him. 

“Seriously? You can’t dance, or you don’t like to?” he asked, sounded confused. 

Spencer shrugged. 

“A little of Column A, a little of Column B.” 

Brendon shook his head.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he said. Spencer glanced over to where Brendon had raised his arms over his head and was bumping his ass back and forth across the carpet. 

“I’m good,” he said, “especially if I’m going to end up looking like some sort of war-dancing gopher, or whatever it is you’re doing over there.” 

Brendon grinned, then bit down on his lip in what Spencer was pretty sure Brendon thought was a sexy way as he batted his eyes. 

“Oh, my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, big boy. Yeah, you know it,” he said and flopped onto his back, polo shirt riding up to expose his flat stomach. 

Spencer looked down at his still-wriggling body fondly before poking at his navel. Brendon giggled and sat up, curling over himself reflexively, and Spencer felt the muscles in Brendon’s abdomen shift and flex under his hand. He pulled back abruptly, hands curling into loose fists, but Brendon didn’t seem to notice anything had changed. He poked Spencer back in his own soft, curving belly, his face scrunching.

“C’mon, Spence. We can’t go to bed yet. If we stay up until sunrise, we can go get breakfast and then sleep all day. Dude, I have nothing to do and nowhere to go tomorrow. It’s pretty awesome.” 

Brendon had seemed to get over his weird not-a-fight with his mother almost as soon as it happened, and had been remarkably cheerful ever since, but Spencer noticed that Brendon wasn’t looking him in the eye as he said it. When Spencer didn’t answer, though, Brendon sprang up to his feet again and shimmied over to the iPod dock, shutting off the music and spinning back around to offer a hand to Spencer. 

“Come with me if you want to live,” he intoned in a terrible German accent, then cracked up. “Seriously, come on. Adventure awaits.” 

Spencer shook his head, but Brendon just kept his hand out, wiggling his fingers enticingly. 

“Bed awaits. Look – this was, I mean – thanks for staying with me and all, but I’m fine. Really. Let’s just go to bed.” 

Brendon deflated, his face falling. 

“No adventures? But – prom night is when a boy becomes a man, Spence!” he said in a breathy voice. 

Spencer rolled his eyes, but took Brendon’s hand and let Brendon haul him to his feet. He was little, but solid, pulling Spencer up in a smooth, quick motion. 

“That’s because he’s usually having sex in a motel room somewhere,” Spencer pointed out, brushing invisible carpet lint off the seat of his pants. 

Brendon shrugged. 

“I was thinking more manly adventures, but we could get a hotel room,” he said easily. “If either of us had a credit card.” 

“Ha ha, very funny. You know, Ryan’s really the one who's into challenging the 'heterosexual status quo,'” he said.

Brendon dropped his hand abruptly and backed up a step, and Spencer realized, looking at his face, just how nasty that had actually sounded. 

“Sorry, sorry. That was – I didn’t mean anything by it. What kind of manly, non-motel adventures were you thinking of?” 

Brendon’s smile was a little crooked, but his voice was steady when he answered. 

“This is Vegas, baby. Vegas! Things are open all night. We could – see a show! Get you a lap dance! We could even pay in naiveté,” he said, eyebrows waggling. 

“You have to stop talking in Ryan’s lyrics. It freaks me out,” Spencer said as he circled the family room, turning out lights. “Also, we don’t live in Vegas. We live in Summerlin. There’s nothing open after ten, neither of us is allowed to drive after midnight, and you don’t have your car with you. So, bed. We can do something tomorrow.” 

The last lamp in the room was dim, casting weird shadows over Brendon’s face as he shook his head. 

“No bed. I veto bed. There’s got to be something. We could walk...” 

He trailed off and Spencer finished his sentence for him.

“Around the block? To the golf course? Give it up, Urie.” 

“You’re a genius. A total genius.” 

Spencer shut his eyes at the excitement in Brendon’s voice. 

“What?” 

“There’s a park at the end of your block, right? Swings, Spencer Smith. It’s a masterpiece of alliteration.” 

“Brendon...” 

But Brendon was already heading towards the door, grabbing one of either Jackie or Crystal’s hoodies that hung by the door on a hook and tucking his iPod into the pocket. 

“I may go out tomorrow if I can borrow the park down there,” he sang, nonsensically. “I may go out tomorrow with Spencer Smith who’ll be swinging there.” 

He opened the front door quietly and turned around, his smile wide and bright against the night sky behind him. 

“Come on, come on, we don’t have all night,” he said, “You coming?” 

“Just how often did your mom let your brothers play football with you as a baby?” Spencer asked, but he was already reaching for a hoodie of his own. “Because all of that brain damage had to come from somewhere.”

*

The night was so quiet that Spencer could hear the distant hum of trucks on the Interstate nearly a mile away. Brendon stood under streetlight tinged yellow by the sodium-vapor lamp, waiting for Spencer to catch up, then hopped onto his back. Spencer protested, rolling his shoulders, and Brendon slid off but he was back a moment later, snaking an arm around Spencer’s waist and leaning his head against Spencer’s shoulder as they walked slowly towards the little play park that sat at the end of a cluster of cul-de-sacs. He and his sisters had all been too old for swings and jungle gyms by the time they’d moved to this house, and Spencer usually forgot it was even there.

Brendon was humming softly under his breath as they clambered over the small fence and into the interior of the park, skirting the hissing sprinklers along the edge of the lawn. 

“What is that?” Spencer asked as he caught a snatch of lyric as they rounded a curve and saw the jungle gym ahead of them, the swings up the hill to the side. 

Brendon detached himself from Spencer and ran on ahead, climbing up the jungle gym without a second’s hesitation, his grip firm and sure. Spencer followed more slowly, climbing just a few rungs so that he could sit with his feet dangling down. A moment later, Brendon’s head bobbed beside him from where he hung upside down from his knees, the hood of his jacket swaying behind him. 

“That, my friend, is Ol’ Blue Eyes himself,” he said. He shook his head when Spencer shrugged, making the hood spin more wildly. 

“Not you, moron. The other Ol’ Blue Eyes – Frank Sinatra.” 

“The Rat Pack guy?” 

“Jesus, you and Ross, it’s like you were raised by wolves. Not just the Rat Pack guy. He’s a singer, you know. Anyway, that’s an old Jerome Kern song. My mom likes it – I won’t dance, don’t ask me. I won’t dance, don’t ask me. I won’t dance, Madame with you. My heart won’t let my feet do things that they want to do,” he sang, his voice pinched and shallow from hanging upside down. 

He planted his hands on the bar above Spencer’s head and swung his body down in a graceful arc – almost a reverse headstand – and fitted his ass next to Spencer on the bar. His hair was sticking up wildly and his face was flushed. 

“You made me think of it, when you said you didn’t like to dance,” he said. 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Spencer protested half-heartedly. Brendon raised an eyebrow. 

“You sort of did.” 

“It’s more – I don’t really know how,” Spencer admitted. “I just sort of hold on and sway.” 

Brendon laughed a little at that. 

“Is that why – I mean, you could have gone to the prom, you know, Spence. Ryan or me or Brent, any of us would have gone with you, like, as friends,” he said. 

“You guys couldn’t have gone. It’s a Catholic school. They totally flipped their shit when Ryan showed up in a hot pink _tie_ last year. You think they’d be okay with two guys, especially two guys that look like us?” 

Brendon made a half-hearted noise of protest, then shrugged. 

“Fine, whatever, we’re too pretty for the masses, I get it. But Amy said she’d do it, you know Brent said she would. Ryan could have asked someone for...” he trailed off as Spencer looked away. “I didn’t mean it that way.” 

Spencer shook his head, but kept looking out over into the gloom of park, listening to the hiss of sprinklers.

“No, that’s not it. It’s just – I didn’t care, not really. Not until today, I guess. I just – I was watching tonight and I thought, I’m never going to do that. It’s never going to be normal for us again,” he said, wishing he had a better way to describe the feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. 

“I’ve never been normal,” Brendon said from behind him in a casual voice, “And I’ve got news for you – take a look at Ross, sometime. You guys haven’t been normal in a really, really long time either.” 

Spencer turned to see Brendon watching his back with fierce concentration, biting his lip viciously despite his easy words. 

“That’s not it. It’s more – we’re going to do this, and everyone else is going to, like, get summer jobs and kiss people at the water park and go off to college and shit. What if we screw this up? What if it doesn’t work? I don’t – I don’t want to be that weird guy who lives in his parents’ basement and works at, like, the Arby’s. What if we skip all that stuff and fuck it up anyway?” 

“Do you want to get a job at the water park or whatever?” Brendon asked seriously. Spencer shook his head. “Then what’s the problem? We won’t screw it up. We can’t. You and Brent – I mean, you guys could come back if you wanted to, go to college, do whatever, but me and Ryan – Spencer, you know that this is it for us. We can’t come back. Not ever. It has to work out.” 

“It’s – I want it to work out, I really, really do. I’m not saying that. But if it doesn’t, Bren, if it doesn’t – your parents would let you come home. They would. They love you,” he said. It seemed important to say it out loud, although he suspected Brendon knew it already. 

“No,” he said softly, dropping his head, “No, I’m done. I know they love me. Of course they love me, or I’d have been in big trouble a long, long time ago. But – I don’t want to go on a mission , I don’t want to be LDS, it’s like I’m spitting in their faces. They love me, but I can’t live there. I can’t really be in their lives. Not now. Maybe – maybe not ever.” 

His voice broke a little at the end, but when he raised his head, Spencer could see that his eyes were dry. 

“So, fuck prom anyway. Fuck normal. We’re going be rock stars.” He glanced down at himself, at the pink hoodie he had thrown over the remnants of his Smoothie Hut uniform, and laughed. “Or something, anyway.” 

Spencer reached out a hand, but Brendon ducked away, jumping down from the monkey bars to land with a soft _oof_ against the rubberized playground. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t – I didn’t know it was that bad,” Spencer said, but that was pretty much a lie. Brendon let it slide, however, and beckoned to Spencer with waving fingers. 

“Come on. Cheer up, emo kid. I’ll give you normal. We’re going to be rock stars who dance. I promise. I’ll give you a little lesson, and you’ll be all set to dance at your wedding or whatever the hell other normal thing you want to do.” 

Spencer slid down onto the ground carefully, and went to stand over in front of Brendon. His shoulders were back and he was grinning like their conversation had never taken place. Always smiling.

“Okay, you want to be the boy or the girl?” he asked hooking his arms around Spencer’s waist again. 

“What? Why – why would I want to be the girl?” Spencer asked, bewildered already. Brendon crossed his eyes, but slid a hand up to Spencer’s shoulder, using his other hand to take Spencer’s and guide it to the small of his back. 

“Well, traditionally the man leads and the woman follows, so if you’re going to be dancing with women, you probably want to be the boy. If you’re fucking with gender roles, as Ross says, you just have to decide if you want to be in charge or not.” 

“Leader,” Spencer said decisively. He’d spent enough time following Ryan’s lead. Brendon laughed, resting his head for a moment against Spencer’s chest, then nodded. 

“Yeah, like that’s a surprise. Lucky for you, I know how to be the girl already.” 

“How, exactly?” 

Brendon shook his head as he moved them back into position. 

“Older brothers.” 

“Yeah, but don’t you have older sisters, too? Wouldn’t that have made more sense?” 

Brendon made a face. 

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun as humiliating their baby brother. Okay, here we go. We’re going to do a waltz, because everyone can do a waltz. It’s really easy. One-two-three, one-two-three,” Brendon chanted as he pushed and pulled Spencer around the small square of ground in front of the monkey bars. 

When Spencer started to get the hang of it, Brendon stopped pushing and started waiting for Spencer’s lead, correcting him gently as they stumbled around, still counting off. They were in what Brendon assured him was “waltz position,” but he could still feel Brendon’s body heat radiating within the circle their arms made. Brendon’s hand in his was damp and under his tee-shirt, at the small of his back, Spencer could feel trickles of sweat gathering. 

“Don’t you think this is weird?” he asked after a minute, and Brendon paused in his counting to look up at him. 

“What? Dancing with your bandmate in a playground at four in the morning? Nah, it’s totally standard,” he said, and threw in a little dip that had Spencer stumbling to regain the count. 

“No, I mean dancing without music. It’s weird.” 

Brendon threw his head back and laughed, and Spencer could feel it vibrating through his whole body. 

“Says the drummer. All you really need is the rhythm, but if you’re going to be a big baby about it, fine.” 

He stopped counting for a moment, even as they kept dancing, then moved in closer to Spencer, to start crooning in his ear. 

“WHAT’S new, Pus-SY-cat, whoa-ooaohaoh . . .” 

Spencer started laughing, hard enough that he stumbled, pulling them both to the ground. They landed in a tangle of limbs, Brendon protesting but still shaking with laughter. 

“What? What? It was the first song I could think of in three-quarter time!” he said as they rolled around for a moment, trying to sort themselves out, and Spencer found himself flat on his back, looking up at Brendon’s wide mouth as he settled the length of himself against Spencer. 

“Hey there, sailor,” Brendon purred, and Spencer started giggling again as he wiggled against him. “Shut it. It’s a great song. Pussycat, pussycat, I love you, yes I do, you and your pussycat nose,” he sang. “Ryan wishes his lyrics were that deep.” 

Spencer reached up without thinking to push Brendon’s bangs away from his face. He was already sweating a little, and Spencer let his hands stay tangled in Brendon’s damp hair for a moment. 

“What’s it like?” Spencer asked abruptly, and he felt Brendon stiffen against him. 

“What’s what like?” he answered lightly, “My awesomeness?” But Spencer could hear the tremor in his voice. 

“No, dickwad, not that. I do not think that word means what you think it means,” he said. “I mean, what’s it like, having all that music in your head all the time?” 

He felt Brendon relax against him in increments. 

“Oh. Oh! I don’t – I don’t know, really. It’s just – that’s just me. It’s not – don’t you feel it, too? I mean, like, the rhythm, the beat?” 

Spencer nodded, feeling his hair brush against the recycled soda bottles or whatever the playground surface was made of. 

“Sort of, I guess? But you – you’re always singing, or humming. Everything reminds you of a song.” 

Brendon dropped his head and started to roll off of him, but Spencer moved his hand from Brendon’s head to Brendon’s shoulder, holding him in place. 

“Hey, hey, don’t go anywhere. What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Nothing. It’s just – I know it’s annoying, okay? I try to stop it when I realize that I’m doing it,” he whispered. Spencer felt him tense again and pulled his shoulder harder, until he collapsed completely on top of Spencer’s chest.

“That’s not what I meant. I just think it’s cool – it must be, it must cool to see the world like that.” 

Brendon snorted, and laughed a little, but it was a miserable sound. 

“You’re a total freak,” he said, and his voice was trembling. 

“Weren’t you the one who just said ‘fuck normal’? That’s like the pot calling the kettle fat or whatever, isn’t it?” 

Brendon braced his arms on either side of Spencer to raise up, and Spencer let him go after a moment, when he realized that Brendon was just looking for a better angle to see his face. 

“It’s calling the kettle _black_ , you moron. Jesus, Spence, sensitive much?” 

Spencer looked up at him, startled. 

“That’s not what I – that’s not even what I meant. It’s really black, not fat?” 

“Holy shit, what do they teach you in that stupid school? It really is.” 

“Oh. Oh, that sort – makes a lot of sense, really. And I’m not. I’m not sensitive,” he said. “I know what I look like.” 

Brendon shook his head. 

“You look fine,” he said, and Spencer made a noise of protest. 

“I know what I look like compared to you and Ryan. I’m not stupid.” 

“You look fine,” Brendon repeated. “You look like you.” 

Spencer snorted. 

“And isn’t that the whole problem?” 

“I like the way you look,” Brendon said, and he sounded serious, almost solemn. “I like you.”

For a second he wavered above Spencer, his warm eyes widening just a bit as he flexed his arms, and then his lips were brushing against Spencer’s lightly, with hardly any pressure at all. 

Spencer felt startled for a moment, and then he began to kiss back, opening his mouth slightly to give Brendon better access. He felt Brendon’s tongue against his own, and he still tasted faintly like chocolate. He wasn’t really sure what to do, so he wound his own tongue against Brendon’s, kissing back. 

He felt Brendon’s weight settle more heavily against him as he brought his arm up to tangle in Brendon’s hair again, and when he moved his other hand along Brendon’s back, lower, he felt Brendon buck and squirm, and then he was hard against Spencer’s thigh. 

Spencer felt himself get hard in response, and tried to concentrate on the kissing, to think about how Brendon’s mouth was hot and a little desperate and willing against his own, and not about how he was living through every wet dream and worst nightmare he’d had since Brendon had joined the band combined in one giant, confusing mess. 

Spencer pushed up as Brendon ground down, their cocks not quite lined up right, the friction from their jeans uncomfortable and yet not quite enough as they rubbed against each other, still kissing. Spencer broke apart for a moment, marveling at a singer’s breath control, and above him, Brendon went rigid, gasping. 

“Shit, Spencer, shit,” he muttered, and Spencer realized, with shock and a little wonder, that he was close to coming. Spencer reached up to grab his mouth again, not quite brave enough to reach down further – to touch Brendon’s cock against his thigh – and for a moment Brendon slid bonelessly against him, but instead of encouraging Brendon to continue it seemed to spook him entirely. Seconds later he went rigid again, then shoved off Spencer, his face pale. 

“Shit, Spencer, shit. Oh my God,” he said, but it wasn’t the breathless gasp of a moment before. He was up before Spencer could react, and tearing across the playground. 

“Brendon,” Spencer called. “Brendon, goddammit. Don’t make me chase you.” 

It took Spencer a minute to get himself under control enough to stand up, and by that time Brendon was halfway across the park – the fast little fucker – and running flat out. But Spencer’s legs were longer and he was pretty motivated, even if the patented Ryan Ross near-starvation diet he’d been following had sadly lacked a fitness component. He caught up to Brendon by the entrance to the park and made a flying, off-center tackle for him that probably would have made his father cringe with shame. Still, it did the trick, and he brought them both to the ground by a little cluster of bouncy hippos, rabbits and geese. 

“Jesus, Brendon. What the fuck? I’ve heard of cutting and running before but this is fucking ridiculous,” he panted, winded and furious, but cut off at the sight of Brendon’s stricken face.

“I’m sorry,” Brendon said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

Spencer shut him up with a little shake, then pulled his head against his shoulder. 

“Take a breath, would you? It’s okay. It’s fine. What the hell are you sorry for?” he asked. 

He realized that he was not exactly being as sensitive as the moment called for, but he’d just run a fucking virtual goddamned four-minute mile across half a kiddie park with his erection rubbing painfully against his straining pants, and he was sitting with his head under a hippo’s acrylic ass while one of his best friends, the one who’d just kissed him – BRENDON URIE KISSED ME, his brain helpfully supplied – shook and shuddered on the verge of tears as he came apart under Spencer’s hands. 

“I took advantage of you,” Brendon gasped out, and he sounded scandalized by himself. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. I’m like, four inches taller and about fifty pounds heavier than you. If I didn’t like it, I could have stopped you. If I didn’t like it I wouldn’t have kissed you back, you idiot.” 

Brendon looked up at him, wide-eyed and still trembling, and shook his head. 

“Spencer,” he said urgently. “Spencer, I think I might be gay.” 

“You think?” Spencer asked dryly, but Brendon wiggled out from underneath Spencer to curl up into a ball of misery. 

Spencer sighed and sat up next to him, reaching a tentative arm out. Brendon let him rest it on his shoulders, but stayed with his head on his knees, his hands in his own hair. 

“You don’t mean you just figured it out after twenty minutes of making out, do you?” he asked gently, and Brendon shook his head. 

“I’ve – I think I’ve known for a while now. But I never...” he sputtered out, and Spencer watched as his hands tightened and relaxed around handfuls of his hair. “God, Spencer. I never meant to fuck up the band.” 

Spencer tightened his arm reflexively. 

“Who said you did? Can you – can you not deal with me, now that I kn – now that we did that?” he asked. He didn’t actually think that was the problem, but if Brendon could have a giant gay freakout, Spencer was entitled to a tiny little one, too. 

“Oh, God, no. I would never. I just – I’ve been so careful. I don’t – I try not to think of you like that. I swear.” 

“You – you think of me?” 

“Oh, God,” Brendon groaned again, “Just kill me now. I can’t – I can’t help it. You’re – you’re funny, and sort of mean, and you’re a big nerd, even if you don’t seem like it right away. At first I just thought I liked you, like, as a friend. I mean, it’s not like I’ve had a lot of practice. But then I started to – I noticed you all the time. Just you. I mean, you’re – I like the way you look. All the time. I meant it. But it’s just, like, a crush. I’m so sorry . . .” 

Spencer cut him off. 

“Stop apologizing. Jesus, you’re going to give me a complex. It’s not – it’s not a bad thing, really. It’s not. It’s not like I didn’t like it.” 

Brendon looked up at that. His eyes were wet, but his face was dry, even as two spots of color flamed high on his cheekbones. 

“Are you – are you gay, too?” he asked, and fuck, this was why Spencer thought staying up all night and exchanging secrets was vastly overrated. 

“I don’t know, Bren. It’s not like I’ve had enough sex of any kind to start making judgment calls. I mean, you kissed me, I liked it. Annie Chalmers kissed me last summer and I liked that, too. Maybe I just like kissing; maybe I’ve just made a giant lifestyle decision. Could I maybe get more than ten minutes to decide?” he huffed, and he could feel Brendon shrink against him.

“I’m sorry,” Brendon whispered again, and Spencer sighed. 

“No, I’m sorry. It’s just – I realize that prom is this, like, giant fake debutante _thing_ , or whatever, but I didn’t think that I’d literally be coming out, you know? I don’t – maybe you don’t have to, like, decide today, okay? Let’s just say I’m – open to a lot of possibilities.”

Brendon nodded, but he buried his head in his arms again. 

“Brendon,” Spencer said, but he refused to look up. “Brendon!” 

Brendon turned his head enough that Spencer could see an eye, and he decided to take what he could get. 

“You’re my friend, okay? It’s – this is something we can figure out. Together. I’m not – you don’t have to be alone with it.” 

Brendon looked at him warily. 

“What do you mean, together?” 

Spencer sighed. 

“I don’t know. I liked the making out. The making out was nice. It’s – I think with the two of us, we could try some stuff, see how it goes. It’s not like, it’s not like it would be with you and Ryan. You two would kill each other, and then I’d have to kill you both. We’re – it’s easier with us.”

Brendon sniffled and shot him a shaky, watery smile. 

“Did you miss the part where I think about your collarbone in calculus?” he asked. Spencer ran a hand over his neck involuntarily. 

“My collarbone? Really?” 

“It's very nice. But I’m not, I don’t want to use you, is what I meant. I like you.” 

“I like you too. That’s what I meant. I don’t know if this is the story we’re going to tell our grandkids about the night we met, or if this is something that I’ll tell my wife someday about how I got laid on prom night. But it won’t matter, because we’ll be friends – we’ll be in the band – no matter what.” 

“I won’t fuck up the band,” Brendon said fiercely. Spencer nodded. 

“Me neither. I would never. It would kill Ryan. It would kill you. I love you both too much to do that. Even if it meant I never got to dance with you again.” 

“I knew you’d like it. I am a romantic genius.” 

“You’re an idiot, but I love you,” Spencer said, then added, after a minute, “Man. There, that makes it macho, right? I love you, man.” 

Brendon laughed, and pushed back against Spencer’s arm. 

“Sorry I freaked out,” he said softly. “I just, I forget sometimes that not everyone will hate me if it’s true.” 

“So the band thing – the never coming back thing? You think if you’re gay, you’re parents won’t, what? Won’t love you anymore?” 

“It’s a really serious sin. Not, like an ‘I drank a Coke at the Smiths' sin, more like a ‘we don’t want you near your nephews anymore’ sin,” he said, and huddled into himself. “They’ll love me, but they’ll never want to see me again.” 

“They love you,” Spencer said. It wasn’t enough. It had never been enough for Ryan, and it would never be enough for Brendon, but it was all he had. 

“They try,” Brendon said, and twisted around to lay a soft kiss on Spencer’s jaw. “Not like you guys try, but they do their best.” 

“So I guess we’ll just have to make sure we don’t fuck it up, hunh? If this is your only option.” 

“ _Our_ only option.” 

“Right.” 

Brendon shifted, letting his knees drop to the ground before he turned to face Spencer fully, straddling his lap. 

“So maybe we could try the making out again?” he whispered. “You know, just to make sure it stuck?” 

Spencer smiled and reached a hand up to Brendon’s face, drawing him down for a kiss. 

“For practice, right? I hear it makes perfect,” he murmured against Brendon’s lips, and of fucking course his phone went off. He felt Brendon’s hand in his front pocket, too quick to be stopped. 

“Hello, Spencer Smith’s pants. How may we help you?” 

Brendon didn’t have to hold the phone away for Spencer to hear Ryan’s flat, angry voice. 

“I don’t know, Ross, where the hell are you?” he asked, rolling his eyes. He put his hand over the mouthpiece and stage whispered, “He’s in your room. That’s creepy, right?” 

“Brendon, give me the phone,” Spencer said, but Brendon waved him off. 

“We’re at the park. No, not that one – the one on the corner. Come get us,” Brendon demanded, and Spencer snatched at the phone futilely. “No, you come here. Because we’re tired and it’s Spencer’s prom night and he didn’t get laid, so the least you can do is buy him some after-sex waffles or something.” There was a pause and then Brendon laughed. “Seriously, Ross, do you kiss Spencer’s mother with that mouth?”

“Give me the phone, Brendon,” Spencer repeated, his voice low and irritated, but Brendon just grinned down at him and cheerfully flipped off Spencer’s phone as Ryan voice rose and fell in the background. 

Suddenly, Spencer had a vision of days, weeks – years – of Brendon grinning down at him; of Brendon and Ryan bickering in a corner of a green room somewhere; of Brent sprawled beside him in a bus lounge, watching movies. Maybe Brendon was right. Fuck normal. 

“I want sex-consolation waffles,” Spencer yelled in the general direction of the phone’s mouthpiece, and Brendon shut it with a satisfied click. 

“He’s coming to get us. He always did like you best,” he said with a smile. “Now, where were we?” 

Spencer kissed him for a moment, relaxing into it, before pushing him away. 

“Ryan’s on his way,” Spencer said quietly. “We should – we should go meet him. You know it’s going to take him about a second to get here.” 

Brendon nodded, then looked down at him, his face oddly serious again, even if was framed against a smiling hippo. 

“What are we telling Ross?” he asked. 

Spencer shook his head. 

“Nothing.” 

Brendon looked skeptical and a little nervous at that. 

“We’re not going to fuck up the band, remember? And I’m not fucking you guys up either. You tell him everything,” Brendon pointed out. 

“Not everything,” Spencer said. Spencer didn’t tell Ryan what he thought about Ryan’s father, or Ryan’s wardrobe or Ryan’s choice in girlfriends. But this was the first time Spencer hadn’t wanted to share something good with Ryan, to make it real by saying it out loud to him. 

“So, are we, like, a secret, then? I am a terrible secret keeper. I’m worse than Sirius Black.” 

“Sirius Black wasn’t really their Secret Keeper, remember?” Spencer said automatically, then blushed when Brendon laughed. 

“I love you, you giant dork,” Brendon said easily, and it sounded like a thousand times he’d said it before, but now it was tinged with something more. 

“No, not a secret. More like – a promise, I guess.” 

“A promise? ‘Cause I’m not a very good Promise Keeper, either, I have to tell you.” 

“Shut up, you asshole,” Spencer said, jostling Brendon off Spencer’s lap and onto the playground surface again. “I’m trying to, I don’t know, be profound and shit.” 

“Profound and shit. Check,” Brendon said with a snort, but he rolled back up onto his knees to look Spencer in the eye. 

“I just – everything is about the band. And we won’t fuck it up. But this,” he said, making an ineffectual flappy gesture between them, “should be just for us. Just for a little while. I think we deserve to figure out what story we get to tell some day, without having to hear Ryan and Brent and Pete Wentz and everyone else figure it out for us.” 

Brendon leaned in and kissed him again, chastely, on the lips. 

“I like that. I can do that, I think.” 

“I don’t want to keep you a secret,” Spencer said again. “I just want to keep you for myself for a while.” 

It had been a long time since Spencer had had something all his own, at least something that made him happy inside, made his heart beat with the rhythm that Brendon had mentioned, with joy and possibility rather than worry and shame. It wasn’t normal. It was better than normal. It was special. 

Brendon Urie – with his thick glasses and his clothes that his mother still bought for him and his bad, bad movie impressions – had looked at Spencer and seen him – really seen him, even when he was standing next to Ryan Ross. 

Brendon Urie – with his incredible talent and his unbelievable hips and his mouth that Spencer would be allowed to kiss again – had seen Spencer – in his bad cargo shorts and in his sisters’ pajamas and in the remnants of Ryan’s failed eyeliner experiments – and had still wanted Spencer. Just Spencer. 

Brendon rolled his eyes at Spencer’s answer and sprang up from his knees again, but he was grinning, a real smile that reached all the way to his eyes. 

“Spencer Smith,” he said solemnly, “I am totally telling Ryan Ross that you secretly have a poet’s soul.” 

He was around the corner of the path before Spencer could get to his feet, but Spencer could hear him singing, all the way out to Ryan’s car. 

“It’s poetry in motion, he turned his tender eyes to me...”

Fuck normal.

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to miss_begonia and goshemily for most excellent beta skills, handholding and general awesomeness. Thanks, too, to elzed and cianconnell who listened to me babble, even though it was a bandom story. All mistakes, of course, are due to my inability to leave stuff alone, and not their diligent efforts. 
> 
> Brendon Urie’s infinite playlist includes lyrics and modified lyrics from Rock and Roll All Night by KISS, Milkshake by Kelis, But It’s Better If You Do by Panic at the Disco, Simon Smith and His Dancing Bear by Harry Nilsson, I Won’t Dance by Frank Sinatra (music and lyrics by Jerome Kern and Dorothy Field), What’s New, Pussycat? by Tom Jones and She Blinded Me with Science by Thomas Dolby.


End file.
